


The Path of the Monarch

by soulmate328



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Adding characters as the story continues, Arranged Marriage, But will contain political marriages, Drabble Collection, Dysfunctional Family, Empress Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Ficlet Collection, Gen, It's not the point though, No serious romantic relationship for Ciri, Political Marriage, Politics, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Post-Canon, Post-Hearts of Stone (The Witcher 3 DLC), Slow Build, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328
Summary: A collection of short stories after the Empress ending of the game. Mostly told from Ciri's point of view. Basically my own head-canon.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Emhyr var Emreis, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Morvran Voorhis, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Mererid

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles are the main characters that Ciri interacts with in every chapter.

The people in Nilfgaardian court looked at her with no alienation as she had imagined on the ship. In fact, they looked at her as if they already knew her, and bowed to her like they've done this a thousand times before. She suddenly recalled that some of them might've seen her back in Vizima, when Geralt took her to meet with Emhyr. It was only a little more than a year ago in this world, but she had no way of counting how many she had spent jumping among worlds, seeking for a method to battle the White Frost. She could barely remember what took place before she entered the portal, except for the little time she spent with Geralt and Yennefer.

It was early in the morning when they arrived at the palace, so there was few people in the throne room. She was told on the ship that Emhyr hadn't yet returned from the north, still dealing with the matters in Temeria, therefore the emperor's chamberlain would be the one to receive her.

"Welcome to Nilfgaard, Your Highness," the chamberlain greeted her with a heavy accent. "We have been expecting your arrival for months, though I also have just returned from the north."

"You must be Mererid," said Ciri.

"Indeed, Your Highness. I am charged with the task of seeing to all your needs before His Majesty's return from Vizima. Please, follow me. I will show you to your chamber."

Mererid was a tall, lean man wearing a typical Nilfgaardian doublet of dark and orange stripes. His dark hair was streaked with white, and his prominent nose made the sharp contours of his face even more aggressive. Something about the way he eyed her told Ciri that he didn't entirely approve of Emhyr's decision of making her his heir. But she only sensed the usual scorn Nilfgaardians' had for northerners; there was no real enmity. If Emhyr could entrust the mission of receiving her to him, then she supposed he wasn't her enemy.

"Normally, someone of higher birth should be in charge of welcoming the princess," Mererid told her as they walked. "However, though His Majesty doesn't intend to conceal Your Highness's arrival, nor was he planning to spread the news with him absent in the capital. I strongly suggest Your Highness to stay in the palace before the emperor's return. After all, it is a big palace, which requires much time to become familiar with."

"I'm afraid no one can stop me from going wherever I wish to go, Mererid," she said with a smile. "And that is not a child's joke. I'm simply telling the truth. But don't worry, I'm tired enough to be able to stay in one place for... some time."

Despite her being defiant of all the rules of the court, she was indeed exhausted. The endless jumping, researching and battling had drained her strength and spirit, and she was yearning for a proper room and a bed to warm up her blood after shivering in the numbing cold of the Frost for who knows how long.

The chamberlain seemed even more displeased after her statement, but he couldn't bring himself to actually speak against the princess, which only amused her further. He led her through the entwining corridors, climbing up stairs and going through doors, and finally arrived at her chamber.

"There we are, Your Highness. Right next to the emperor's personal quarters," Mererid opened the door for her. "I hope you find it suitable to your tastes."

It wasn't suitable to her tastes. Perhaps it was suitable for a Nilfgaardian noble woman, but not for her. The room was spacious and luxurious, facing the perfect direction to let the sun shine through the window, but the style and the decorations were entirely southern. It looked nothing like her room in Cintra... nothing like the coziness, at least, because even the details of her childhood chamber felt like a distant memory.

"It'll do," she said.

"Would you like a bath prepared, Your Highness?"

"Yes, Mererid, that would be splendid."

The south was hotter than she had expected. White Orchard was already covered in snow, but here by the Alba the sun could still bake the sweat out of her. Mererid bowed and left, and soon the palace maids had the marble bath in the bathroom filled with hot water. Ciri refused when they intended to help her with the bath; she had always bathed herself, even back in Cintra, when she was still that insufferable little princess. Calanthe did not raise her granddaughter to be a delicate flower in the greenhouse.

Beneath her white shirt were the scars, left by the Frost and many other things. Some of them were usual scars, frostbites and burns, while others look nothing like scars. In many places her veins seemed to be glowing with an unnerving blue light; those were the marks of the Frost, the most serious ones. Even the hot water could not warm up those places, and her fingertips would hurt from the cold if she touched them. Ciri had a feeling that those were permanent.

"Are these the only ones I can choose from?" She asked Mererid, waiting at the chamber door, when she stepped out of the bathroom. She wasn't very satisfied with the clothes she was provided with, even though she had three to choose from. All three were long skirts, and of course in Nilfgaardian fashion. She had chosen to put on the red one, but the color was perhaps the only thing she could cope with.

"I would have others fetched for you, Your Highness. What would you like?"

"A shirt, trousers. Something comfortable enough for me to move," she did her best to arrange the sleeves. "I don't think I can use my limbs properly in this one."

"These are the typical dress of a Nilfgaardian woman of high birth, Your Highness," said Mererid, and Ciri noticed his eyes rolling impatiently, as if he had finally seen what he's expecting to happen. "It may sound painful to the ear, but I propose Your Highness get used to it. Much more intricate clothing is worn on formal occasions."

"Is it?" Ciri raised her brows. "If I recall correctly, that was not how it works when it comes to Emhyr. In fact, when I met him in Vizima, he wasn't quite wearing the typical dress of a Nilfgaardian man of high birth. Don't you think, Mererid?"

The chamberlain swallowed uncomfortably, switching the center of balance between his feet. "Your Highness, I believe it is my job to remind you that the emperor should be addressed as His Majesty..."

"Well, then. Do tell, Mererid, do you propose the same thing to His Majesty every time he gets dressed in the morning? Is that what you say when you presented him that silly collar of yours, only for him to ignore you?"

Mererid pursed his lips, "No, Your Highness."

"Good. I suppose Emhyr didn't become emperor by letting others decide what he should wear. Fetch me shirt and trousers, and arrange me a meeting with the talior at a proper time. I shall discuss and decide on the designs by myself."

"Your Highness..."

"I understand that my preferences do not go with Nilfgaardian tastes, which is why I wish to find a balance. Your advice is always welcomed, Mererid, since you know more than me about what Nilfgaardians would like to see their princess wear." Ciri gave the chamberlain a smile. "There's still time before Emhyr comes back and presents me to the public. I would like to use that time to learn. Will you assist me in this, Mererid?"

His mouth opened and closed for a few times, until he finally said, "Of course, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Mererid."

Mererid coughed in disguise of his embarassment. "And please, remember to say His Majesty."

"I'll try."

They stood like that for a moment, speechless, and Ciri felt that she was starting to run out of wit. But Mererid said quickly, "If that is all, I shall be dismissed. The meeting with the tailor will be arranged. If Your Highness needs anything else, call me at anytime."

"Yes, thank you. I would like to be shown around the palace, this afternoon."

"Then I shall visit again after lunch. Your Highness."

The chamberlain bowed and left her on her own. Ciri sighed, throwing herself into the large bed, inhaling deeply in the fragrance. It seemed that she had at least won some respect from the chamberlain. She strongly suspected that Mererid was perhaps relatively easy to deal with, since he was, after all, only a chamberlain.

The tour went well, the meals were nutritious, and the day passed in peace. At night Ciri lay awake in bed, knowing what would certainly happen.

As expected, at midnight there was a ripple in the magic barrier that protected the whole palace, and soon after the yard started to stir. She got out of bed, looked down from the window, and saw palace guards dragging a man away from the spot beneath her chamber. The way he wriggled reminded Ciri of the serpents that crawled into the cradle of young Hercules. She watched the scene in silence, until she heard hasty footsteps approaching from the corridor, and her bedroom door was knocked by a clearly anxious man.

"Your Highness?" Mererid's voice sounded outside, "May I come in?"

"Yes, please." She turned towards the door.

The chamberlain opened the door and entered, took a deep breath and explained quickly, "Your Highness, there was an attempted assassination. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Mererid," she replied calmly. "Have you caught the assassin?"

"Yes, we have. I'm very sorry for disturbing your rest."

"It's alright. Go back to your work."

Mererid stared at her for a moment before he left, surprised by her composure. She returned to bed, and this time her sleep was finally undisturbed.

She woke early the next morning, as was the habit of a witcher, and went straight towards the training grounds. She practiced with her Zireael, swinging the sword with the moves she had used to fight off so many foes, in this world and others.

Mererid did not panic when he found her, but he clearly had been a little worried by her disappearance from the chamber. "Your Highness," he said from the side, "Breakfast is ready."

Ciri lowered her sword, wiping the sweat from her brows. "Yes, I'm finished."

A quick shower, a change of clothes, and she sat at her table with milk and boiled eggs and porridge. Mererid stood at her side, silent like a statue, a scene so awkward that Ciri decided to find something to talk about.

"Have you met... the other Cirilla, Mererid?" she asked. "The one that Emhyr had married?"

Mererid pursed his lips, a tinge of fear painting his eyes. "Yes, I have, Your Highness."

"I haven't seen her," not in person, at least, "Where did she go?"

"... Catriona, Your Highness."

"Ah," that foul port wasn't some nice memory to recall. She had traveled enough to understand what Catriona truly was. "Is there anyone in charge of handling it?"

"A department is set up in the Imperial Laboratory to find a cure. The best medics of the empire are gathered there, working day and night."

"How's the progress?"

"As far as I know, Your Highness, not well," Mererid shifted, "Otherwise the late empress would've lived."

Ciri nodded, "You can arrange me a meeting with the department, too. I can deal with this plague."

"Truly?" Mererid widened his eyes, forgetting his manners for the moment.

"Yes, I can assure you."

The chamberlain remained silent. Ciri cocked her eyebrows. "What? Is this something political? Allowing the plague to spread to weaken the northern forces or something?"

"No, no... not that I know of, at least." Mererid frowned. "I... suggest Your Highness wait until..."

"Emhyr's return, yes I see."

She finished her breakfast, allowing the servants to clear the table. "If Your Highness is ready, I shall bring the tailor," said Mererid.

"I'm ready."

"Then I shall be back in a minute."

Before he left, Mererid turned to her, "Your Highness?"

"Yes?"

"You're kind," said the chamberlain, "But that is not enough for an empress."

"I know, Mererid," Ciri smiled.

Mererid inclined his head to her again, and Ciri nodded back. Their eyes met, this time with much more recognition than the day before.


	2. Emhyr (1)

Mererid had wanted her to wear the most magnificent of her robes to welcome the emperor at the port, but Ciri refused, arguing that drawing attention might cause trouble. The chamberlain conceded, admitting that she had a point, so she got her own pick of clothes: a crimson dress paired with a long black jacket with golden rims and dark leather boots. She insisted to choose the ones without layers of fabric, since she knew, she simply knew, that something's going to happen, and she must not immobilize herself with lavish clothes. Her hair was brushed and pulled up in an intricate bun, a typical hairstyle of Nilgaardian noble women, but the unique ashen color was enough to make her stand out among the ladies. She stood with Mererid on her side, chin tilted up and back straight, uncaring of others' stares.

"I told you I shouldn't choose the layered ones," she whispered to Mererid. "I'm sweating already, even in these. Is it always so hot in Nilfgaard?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Your Highness, this is not Zerrikania. The weather will turn cold in less than a few weeks, according to my experience. It's true that Nilfgaard does not welcome the winter as early as the north, but the winter here cannot be underestimated either. We must be prepared at any time."

Well, no winters mattered to her, now that she've overcomed the White Frost. But Ciri nodded to the chamberlain nevertheless, focusing her attention once more on the approaching fleet.

The royal ship slowly parked in the dock, and with a staircase carefully put down, the Emperor of Nilfgaard emerged and descended. All knelt when Emhyr came into sight, with only Ciri as an exception. She bowed in the Nilfgaardian fashion as Mererid had taught her when Emhyr approached, then stood up straight again to look him in the eyes.

They had nothing in common, yet somehow they also looked infinitedly alike. It was hard to find any similarities between them if one looked too closely, but at first sight, anyone could see their connection in blood. The way they bore their bodies, the expressions on their faces, the weight and strength in their eyes... it was plain, yet it was subtle.

"Your Imperial Majesty," she said.

"I see you're doing well in Nilfgaard," Emhyr eyed her thoroughly, taking in all her details. "The chat will be reserved untill we're back at the palace. Mererid, bring the carriage."

"It's awaiting, Your Majesty," Mererid replied. They conversed in the Nilfgaardian Language, but it wasn't completely foreign to Ciri's ears. The language shared many words with the Elder Speech. She would have to learn, and it wouldn't bee difficult.

Emhyr started to move, one leg striding forward. At that moment - that freezing moment, when the emperor was surrounded by the lords and ladies of the court - Ciri felt it. Less than a second later, with the corner of her eyes she saw it, or him, the man in the crowd, dressed as only one of the common courtiers, drawing a dagger from his belt when the emperor passed by.

When the dagger was fully bared, the man's arm hovering in the air, the word had already left Ciri's lips.

"...Marw'wen*."

A flash of green light. A gust of cold wind. An ice statue amidst the crowd.

The lords gasped and the ladies screeched. The guards had clearly spotted the assassin as well and were ready to stop him, but they too were shocked at the unexpected twist. Emhyr stared at the ice statue for a few seconds, and slowly, very slowly, turned his eyes toward Ciri without turning his head from the assassin. No one heard her, Ciri was sure of it. But Emhyr looked at her nonetheless.

Ciri looked back at him, making no sound.

"Throw this one into the cells," Emhyr commanded. "Come, Cirilla. We must hurry."

They quickly went into the carriage, and made their way as fast as possible to the palace. Emhyr did not speak to her before they arrived; possibly because he wanted to be back behind the magic barrier in the palace, so that their conversations would not be overheard by any magical or non-magical monitor. Occassionally their eyes met, but most of the time they looked outside the windows, listening to the people's cheers. The word "awkward" couldn't even start to describe their situation.

The fleet arrived in the morning, therefore they went straight into Emhyr's quarters for lunch when they finally returned to the palace and had everything settled. Emhyr waved away the servants, waiting until they were left alone at last.

"I'm sorry," started Ciri.

Emhyr cocked an eyebrow. "For what, exactly?"

"I think I killed him, that assassin. I suppose you want information from him. I'm not very skilled with delicate magic yet."

"I heard that Forces with inherent talent for magic could not control their powers at all."

"I've practiced." A lot.

Emhyr contemplated, "Never mind the assassin. If that was his only move, whatever organization behind him is not particularly organized. It shouldn't be hard to find them."

Ciri nodded. They looked at each other in silence, neither of them touching their food.

"You saved my life," said Emhyr. "I did not expect that from you."

"Just instinct. I thought you're popular," Ciri changed the topic, trying to cover up her uneasiness. "Yet an assassination right after your great victory?"

"The popularity is only what it seems to be." Emhyr explained. "Many want me gone, victory or not. The fact that I'm not welcomed by a much more well-planned assassination is proof enough that the situation has improved."

"Why would you want me back then, if the situation is so desperate? To the Nilfgaardians, I'm just a princess of the Nordlings. This certainly will not make things better."

Emhyr reached for the fork and knife, cutting through the meat. "There is no way that I can have my daughter back without doing this. If I do not make you my heir, it will only be harder, for the both of us."

Ciri ate quietly for a moment, still recovering from... everything. It all happened so fast, even to her who could jump from one world to another by taking a few steps. She wasn't lying when she said she only acted on instinct. That was part of the reason why she accidentally killed the man, unable to control her power to the proper degree.

"Geralt had told me about you," said Emhyr. "He told me that you've gone to save the world."

Ciri smiled at the mention of Geralt. "Did you believe him?"

"Oddly enough, I do. So, have you? Saved the world?"

"Yes. We're safe now. Not forever, perhaps, who knows what disasters still exist in the universe. But the White Frost is gone, I'm sure of it."

"If you've gone to battle the White Frost, then why did your magic manifest as ice? It is your enemy, isn't it?"

Ciri put down her wares, wiped her mouth with a towel. "I've spent so much time learning about that enemy of mine that I understand it too deeply. Deep enough for me to replicate it with my magic, to a certain extent."

The word she chanted wasn't even a real spell; just some sort of mental hint she gave herself as the signal of unleashing her power. Ironic, that eventually the thing she battled with such devotion had become her greatest weapon. But she wasn't displeased by the outcome. She had won, the worlds are saved, and Geralt and Yennefer were safe. She couldn't ask for more.

"Why would you spend time learning how to fight the Frost?" Emhyr asked. "The prophecy said the Elder Blood will save the world. Isn't the power to fight it already inside you?"

"You've misunderstood the prophecy. I've met with the creator of my genes, an Aen Saevherne of the Aen Elle. He told me everything about the power of my blood, and unfortunately, it cannot save the world as we imagined it would do. It enables the carrier to travel across space and time, but that is all. The elves wanted to use this power to flee from the Frost, leave one world for another, not fight against it. That is the only way the Elder Blood can save the world. As for how to eliminate the Frost entirely, I had to figure out by myself."

Emhyr was stricken silent. His face remained calm and determined, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil within. Later, much later, he closed his eyes.

"What a fool I once was, thinking that glory so easy to achieve truly exists."

Ciri made no comment.

"Did you truly plan to marry me and produce the hero that saves the world?"

"I did."

She thought about what she wanted to say, because there were so many things, but she could word none of them. She was angry, still was, but she had long passed the period of rage. Perhaps the time she spent on Olympus and in Aaru** had got her used to incest, but it didn't mean she could accept it in any way. Besides, the memory of King Arthur's fall still stung after so long, and she would never forget the one that committed this crime and how he came to be. Galahad's sorrowful face at the royal funeral brought great pain to her heart whever she recalled it.

"I understand, you know," she finally spoke. "The reason why you made that plan."

"Do you?"

"I've traveled to the past, a few times. I've seen how it happened, the usurpation, the exile. What you've been through had made you what you are. You were used to using everything around you to serve your own purposes, because that was the only way you could survive."

"You speak like a goddess," said Emhyr.

"I am not, trust me. Otherwise I wouldn't have come back."

"Why did you come back, if you've seen so many and learned so much?"

"For Geralt, of course. And Yennefer," this reminded her. "Any news about them?"

"Yes, there is. It seems that the witcher had received a vineyard from the Duchess of Toussaint, as reward for a mission he has accomplished. Yennefer has joined him in the mansion, just a few days ago, bringing her luggage."

Ciri's eyes lightened up, her jaw dropping in mixed shock and joy. "Geralt is settling down?"

"It seems this way."

She was right. She was right to come back here, even after everything she's been through. This world, with Geralt and Yennefer, with them finally together, safe and happy... this was indeed her home, a place worthy of coming back to. Ciri laughed, and almost wanted to get up and jog around the palace several times, but she managed to compose herself beneath the emperor's stare. Even that could not spoil her good mood.

"Back to the topic," Emhyr leaned in. "You have come, despite everything. I wish to know why, hear your reasons from your own lips. Although I have given you the invitation, but I'm not so foolish as to think it would be easily accepted. That is why your acceptance intrigued me. Why? Why would you agree to become my heir, when I am the one that destroyed Cintra and planned to force you into marrying your own father?"

Ciri took a deep breath. Many things flashed across her eyes, the fire burning away the Cintran blue and gold, the endless woods, a girl with hair like straw, a knight with winged helmet, a bounty hunter, a sorcerer with burned face. Her joy cooled down as she remembered, her reason surfacing once more.

"If I wish to revive Cintra, I can. Though my method would be simple - too simple, in fact, to be called a method."

Emhyr did not react to her claim, so she continued.

"As you can see, I've grown... very skilled in causing destruction. After all, I've been studying the most destructive thing in the universe. If I start a war, I can win even if I am the only one my side. I can bring back Cintra, my home, my country, without any trouble."

She paused a little, collecting her emotions.

"But in the end, the outcome is the same. There is no way I can only hold Cintra and not care about anywhere else. Sooner or later the conflict will resume, such is the nature of countries. Eventually, it is everything or nothing. I still want revenge, but I do not want to start a whole new conquest and scatter bodies all over the continent again. You've finished the job already; no more blood should be shed. I do not fight to fly the Cintran banner atop every castle, nor to make everyone wear blue and gold. The people matter, lives matter, not colors. I will not repeat what's already completed, especially when it's a world-conquering war, if there is a more peaceful way."

The silence lasted longer than ever after she finished. The way Emhyr looked at her had changed; it was as if the emperor was looking, with admiration, into a distant and beautiful illusion, something he would never become, could never become. Ciri could understand, more or less. This man in front of her was accustomed to using the most cruel and calculated means of a monarch in order to keep his life and throne; kindness and generosity had become a mere fairytale to him. That must be one of the reasons why he wanted her back, thought Ciri, because he knew that though he was the ruthless emperor that conquered the continent, he could never be the good emperor that comforts the empire after the great war.

"I see your point," said Emhyr, "And I see that I've made the right decision."

Somewhere inside her, Ciri felt a relief at his recognition. She did not fear him - she feared nothing - but she couldn't help but felt nervous at his presence. The conversation they just had was not the one a father and a daughter would have, but an emperor and his successor. On one hand she knew this was the best way, since she might never really see him as her father; on the other hand, she knew too well that Emhyr was indeed her father, the Prince Duny that grandmamma told her about at her bedside, and it tired her to treat her own father in this manner. She missed the time she spent with Geralt, relaxed and pleasant, free to say anything she wanted to say. With Emhyr, every question was a test, every word was a challenge. She could do nothing about it.

"You claimed that you're invincible," Emhyr continued. "Was it a boast, or was it the truth?"

"The truth."

"Then it is a very important military secret. I suggest you tell this to no one else. If the whole empire knows that you are the most powerful being in the world, those who are against you will be much more cautious. Keep it a secret, and they will expose themselves too rashly."

"Are you suggesting that I should deal with assassinations and battles when I can simply scare them off?"

"Would you like to deal with flatteries and lies instead?"

That, was in fact, very convincing. "Alright, I'll keep it a secret."

"Good. Many things await you, Cirilla, as the heiress to the empire. You must learn the Nilfgaardian language; it shouldn't be hard, as I've heard that you're fluent with the Elder Speech. You must also learn Nilfgaardian etiquette, somthing I've noticed that you're not very skilled with. Lessons will be arranged for you... military, economics, law, geology. You mentioned that you cannot control you magic completely; this must be solved. You will have to visit every province of the empire, as well as the former northern realms."

"I'm ready."

"Excellent. The feast to celebrate the victory will be held in the palace this week. I shall introduce you to the nobles, and announce my decision of making you my heir."

Emhyr finished his meal and called for the servant to clean the table. Ciri sensed that he's not finished, so she waited, with a not particularly good feeling about what's coming next.

"And the most important thing," said Emhyr, looking straight into her eyes. "One man will approach you at the feast. He will show great interest in you, and you must not take him lightly or offend him."

"The man is?"

"General Morvran Voorhis. Who, if everything go as planned, should become your future husband."

Deep down in her heart, she knew this was coming. It's the same back in Cintra; grandmamma had made marriage arrangements for her, lots of them. She had run from them, managed to escape from them. She no longer would, since she already knew that it's inevitable if she chose this path.

But as no one could stop her from doing anything, nothing could stop her from letting out a long, angry sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *White Death, Ciri's chant in Elder Speech  
> **The paradise in Egyptian mythology, ruled by Osiris


	3. Morvran (1)

Surprisingly, unlike Mererid, Emhyr did not force her to wear any complicated or lavish dress at the day of the feast. "Morvran is not a man to be clouded by such things" was his explanation. This, more or less, gave Ciri a good impression of her so-called future husband, if what Emhyr said was true. At least he wasn't as stupid and vulgar as to be pleased by clothes.

Only the minor lords were shocked when Emhyr announced his decision of making Ciri heir to the throne. The great lords smiled as if they were genuinely delighted, and applauded simultaneously for the future Empress, the fake smiles never fading from their faces. They must've gotten the information a long time ago; it wasn't as if Emhyr only started searching for her since yesterday.

The meal went on relatively well; it seemed that the lords and ladies were well aware that the emperor wasn't fond of flatteries and smalltalks, so the conversations were mostly polite. Ciri sat at Emhyr's side, enjoying a good view of the entire dinning hall. It brought back some memories of the feasts held by Calanthe back in Cintra, the music and the noises and the loud conversations. The feast in Nilfgaard was lively as well, but in a more restraint, delicate manner. Perhaps a pure-blooded Nilfgaardian would call it "civilized," but to Ciri, it was only pretentious.

She was at Emhyr's left side; at his right sat a young man with brown hair and a prominent nose, wearing the Nilfgaardian formal dress of black and gold. That, was Morvran Voorhis.

One look at him was enough to see that he was very, very Nilfgaardian. Most people in the south had elven blood, a group of elves referred to by the northmen as the Black Seidhe, therefore the Nilfgaardians looked commonly more delicate than people in the north. But this General Voorhis could almost be recognized as a quarter-elf or half-elf, except for the fact that he had round ears. The sharpness of his cheekbones, the shape of his nose, the color of his eyes, every trait of him screamed out elven blood, _Nilfgaardian_ blood. Ciri more or less figured out the reason why Emhyr wanted this marriage when she laid eyes on him; Morvran was such a typical, perfect and pure Nilfgaardian, that marrying him would certainly appease some nobles' displeasure at Ciri's identity as a northern princess.

He somehow looked familiar to her; she must've seen him somewhere before, probably in Vizima, but the memory was too distant for her to recall all the details. Memories of Geralt were brought back instead, of his reassuring voice and gentle eyes, the comforting grip of his hand when she was nervous in Emhyr's presence in Vizima. Ciri could hardly supress a sigh.

After the meal came the social part of the feast, the part she had been fearing since days ago. She had told Emhyr about her fears, her unwillingness of having to deal with all the scheming lords and ladies speaking in riddles. Emhyr's reply was soothing in an extremely strange way. "I thought as much," he said. "That is another reason why a match with General Voorhis is most fitting. Unlike you, he was sophisticated in the art of socializing. I would even say he enjoys it. Marrying him will lessen your burden greatly."

She hated how Emhyr could be so annoying and so convincing at the same time.

The nobles' attitudes toward her were divided into two types: one was the type that sought to flatter her in order to win the emperor's favor, the other was the type that disagreed with the emperor's choice and did not approach her at all. To the flatterers she had to respond with courtesy and benevolence, and to the opposers she had to tolerate their subtle insults while trying to win them over. The former annoyed her, and the latter provoked her, but she had to suppress all negative emotions, showing only the sweet smile of the princess. Even that smile, she knew, was not as sweet as she wanted it to be because of the unlady-like scar.

Morvran Voorhis spent most of the time talking to the emperor. It was almost as if they were leaving the stage for her to show her abilities. When Ciri was finally done, having met every notable lord that Emhyr had warned her about, enjoying some good wine and desserts on her own, the young general approached at last.

"Your Imperial Highness," Morvran bowed to her.

"General Voorhis," she smiled instinctively, and that almost made her cheeks sore. "I see that Em... my father enjoys your company greatly."

"His Imperial Majesty is known for his sense of duty. The emperor had always shown great care for his subjects," Morvran took a glass of wine from the passing servant. "Ah, the wine from Toussaint, sweet as the country herself. Shame that the duchess could not join us."

"What keeps her?" asked Ciri. The news about Geralt had made her quite interested in matters concerning Toussaint.

"It seems that Anna Henrietta's long lost sister has returned, yet the reunion wasn't as warm as the poor duchess wished it to be. The Lady Sylvia Anna plotted a series of murder, and though she has taken up residence in the palace of Beauclair, she's still in fact in confinement. The duchess busies herself at getting her dear sister accepted by the public, and also at repairing the recent damage in the city, therefore she politely declined the invitation to attend the feast."

Morvran talked with a strange but not unpleasant accent, with the dramatic tone of telling a story. Although he did not have a particularly friendly face, he had this charm that made the people chatting with him unable to hate him. Many lords had shown displeasure in having to speak the common speech to her in Nilfgaard, but Morvran seemed to have no problem with it. His accent was far more acceptable than those of other lords as well. He must've talked to many northerners. Just as Emhyr told her, this man enjoyed socializing, not only with Nilfgaardians.

"My father had always said that you're an expert in the art of socializing," said Ciri, eyeing the young general with intrigue shimmering in her emerald eyes. "Explain to me, general. How can you possibly find any joy in this?"

She gestured to the entire hall, and Morvran smiled.

"The trick is in the position you put yourself in, Your Highness. Don't let these people pull your strings like a puppeteers; to me, I am the hunter, and they are the prey. Who would not enjoy playing with their own prize and toy? Lead, Your Highness, don't respond. You are the princess, and they are your subjects."

"Well, anything requires practice," Ciri took a sip of the wine. It tasted fine; very fine indeed. She wondered if the grapes came from Geralt's vineyard. The special chain around Morvran's neck didn't skip her notice. "You're very young as a member of the Guild of Merchants. And why would you have any need to join them, with such high birth?"

"Oh, no, I'm certainly no real merchant. But all large and influential organizations dabble in politics, and I serve as their representation to... provide any help we can offer to the emperor."

"You've made yourself vital to the emperor's rule, General Voorhis. No wonder Em... my father was so eager to make that proposal to me."

"What... proposal, may I ask? I'm not presuming the emperor's will, of course... just curious."

"Come on, General Voorhis, let's stop playing the game for a moment. I'm sure you've heard it from my father," Ciri set down the glass. "So, what do you think of it? You were the emperor's heir before I came; you could've become the emperor directly and marry the one you choose by yourself, instead of having to accept some northern woman with strange hair, _and_ content yourself with being just the consort. You must have quite some complaints in your heart."

Morvran shifted a little in his position. "I have to admit... the emperor's decision was unexpected. But, you may find it surprising, I will obey the emperor's every demand. Whatever I do, I do it out of loyalty."

"Truly? No ambition?"

"I have my own ambitions, certainly. But loyalty comes first, this has always been my principle."

The words were surprisingly, as Morvran said, frank and honest. Ciri had a feeling that he was telling the truth about his loyalty for the emperor. She had not expected such plain confession from this young master of words.

"Surely you have some discontent in your heart? You barely know me, not to mention that I'm one of the nordlings you lot spent half of your conversations scorning at. I can hardly imagine that such a marriage could ever please you."

"On the contrary. I too have my pride as a Nilfgaardian, but I've met enough noble lords and ladies of the north to know that there're equally civilized as the Nilfgaardians. The peasants and the commoners, however, are far less educated; such is the fact. But I'm sure this will change, since the once northern realms are part of the empire now. Crops will be planted, schools will be established, and with peace comes friendship."

"Indeed? And who shall fund these schools? The loyal Nilfgaardian lords? The gracious Guild of Merchants that's always at the emperor's command?" Ciri huffed. "It will take many generations for the north to truly become part of the empire, and for the south to accept them as part of the empire. Most of the lords and ladies I talked to just then still consider the north to be a mere colony."

"True. But let us not forget who will become the next empress," Morvran gave her a meaningful glance. "The river of history follows its current, but great men and women are always there to push it forward."

"Well, I suppose I won't even have the chance to become a great woman if I refuse this marriage. Look at the way they stare at us; so many smiles all of a sudden! I don't remember receiving most of them before I started talking to you. Imagine what would happen if I just sit on the throne without a Nilfgaardian man at my side."

"Fortunately, that shall not take place."

"I see that you've agreed to this marriage. What about me? How do you know if I've made up my mind or not?"

"You are very aware of the benefits that come with this marriage, Your Highness. And, forgive me for the assumptions, but you do not strike me as one those princesses in the stories that escape from her father's castle to meet with their lovely bard at night."

"Perhaps I'm more romantic than you think."

"I'm sure you are! I've heard a great deal of romantic stories about Your Highness, ever since I returned to Nilfgaard. The lion cub of Cintra, the Child of Destiny of a witcher, the prophecied savior of the world, the heroine that battled against the Wild Hunt." Morvran gazed at her with a serious look in his eyes. "But to me, none of them matter."

"No?"

"No. I do believe that you are a heroine, don't be mistaken; those stories can hardly be considered as evidence, but oddly enough, they've become much more convincing as soon as I set eyes on you. But the place we're standing is not some distant village bordering a forest of monsters, nor the frozen sea at the shores of Skellige. This is Nilfgaard, the court of Nilfgaard. And here we fight as well, though in a very different way. You have joined this fight, and just like all the druids and witchers and sorceresses that aided you in your legendary fights, Your Highness need allies that suit your need in battle. I, without a doubt, am the best you can get."

Ciri paused for a moment before saying, "Will you not become my ally if there's no marriage between us?"

"My loyalty remains the same, I can assure you. A marriage with me, however, stands independent from me as a person. What is essential is your union with a Nilfgaardian noble. The weight and meaning of this union, if it comes true, I suppose I have no need to explain it to Your Highness."

They remained in silence, meeting each other's gaze occasionally, but still a little embarrased to stare at each other. In truth, there were a young man and a young woman, who just tried to figure out the feasibility of a potential marriage; it's only natural that they felt awkward, even though they had been pretending to be mature all this time.

"I'm not planning to treat my marriage as no more than a political alliance," Ciri bursted out after the long silence, startling the young general before her. "I know that Em... my father has had mistresses before, but I'm personally not interested in that particular means. Do you understand?"

"Yes... certainly, Your Highness!"

"My father spoke highly of you... which in a certain way, is quite unsettling. It suggests that you may belong to the same type that he belongs to. Cheating on a spouse is not a particularly great cost to achieve certain goals, is it? So answer me, General Voorhis. You said that I'm romantic. What about you? Are you romantic enough to stay loyal to your wife?"

The question sounded hilarious; in stories, the romantic part is always about cheating on a dissatisfying spouse in search for the true love. Yet for them, for those who dabble in politics, it was the exact opposite. Morvran looked blankly at her with a slack jaw; he clearly hadn't been expecting the conversation to progress in this direction. That perhaps was the only thing that brought Ciri some joy. Maybe she could be a quick learner in mastering words.

"Your Highness," it took Morvran some time before saying, with a faint blush and a smile that could almost be called shy on his face, "What kind of fool cheats on a woman like you?"

...She took it back. This brought more joy than all the luxuries of this feast combined.


	4. Emhyr (2)

"Change my name?" exclaimed Ciri as she went through the document.

Emhyr lifted his head. "Whose proposition is that?"

They were in Emhyr's office, and Ciri was serving as his assistant in arranging the papers. Though she hadn't fully grasped the Nilfgaardian language, but the writing was not so different from the Elder Speech, enabling her to understand most of what the documents were about.

"It's ... let me see ... Prince Voorhis?"

The emperor set down his pen. "What are his reasons?"

"Is he Morvran's father?"

"Yes. And he wants your name to be changed into?"

"Cirilla var Emreis. He says it 'emphasizes the Nilfgaardian blood of the princess, thus strengthening Her Highness's claim to the Nilfgaardian throne. In addition, it will reduce misunderstandings in official documents written in Nilfgaardian.'" Ciri threw the papers on the table. "Is he worrying about his grandchildren having northern names already? I haven't even consented to the marriage yet."

Emhyr picked up the papers and flipped through the pages. "What is your opinion?"

Ciri thought about it for a moment. "If, if I marry Morvran ... I have no problem with my firstborn and heir being a Voorhis. But if I have other children, I do want some of them named in the Cintran fashion."

"If this is the reply I give to Prince Voorhis, it's the same as telling him that you've accepted the marriage. Time is running, Cirilla, you must decided."

Ciri sighed. "Why Morvran? I heard that some conspirators used to scheme about putting him on the throne in your stead. I thought you'd certainly keep him from getting power, not give him more."

Emhyr rose from his chair and stood beside the window. "He is my heir in the first place, when you were not known to public. But that was not all. He was a child when the conspiracy took place; he himself had not part in it. And though I wouldn't say I raised him, I've kept him at my side ever since he joined the court. I trust him, and he is loyal to me."

"I've noticed. But what about his family? He's sophisticated, respected, but he's young; he's General Voorhis, while his father is Prince Voorhis. Morvran might acknowledge me, but if his father makes such a proposition, it means that he does not sit well with this marriage."

"On the contrary, this marriage is his proposal in the first place. Do not mistake Prince Voorhis for an ambitious conspirator, Cirilla. He's not half as charming and charismatic as his son; why do you think the conspirators chose Morvran instead of him? He's proud, stubborn, a typical Nilfgaardian noble, but never brave, never defiant. House Voorhis is old, rich and powerful, but his own influence comes mostly from his blood tie with the royal family, and his wife's blood tie with the royal family. As you said, he's worried about his grandchildren having northern names; and I believe that's about it. If what you told me was your reply, he would not persist in this matter."

Ciri still had questions, but if even Emhyr doesn't consider Prince Voorhis a real threat, than she supposed she needn't worry too much. She allowed herself to be lost in thought for a few seconds, and then she said abruptly, "I accept the marriage."

He turned towards her, but didn't seem shocked. "Are you sure?"

"Honestly, no. But I fear if I keep on hesitating, I'll be leaning more and more towards saying no."

"Good. It's settled then."

Ciri nodded, closed her eyes, and let out a long sigh. Then she suddenly thought of something, and the strange relief was gone from her heart.

"It must be even harder for you," she said quietly. "When you're with my mother."

No reply came. The air seemed frozen, though the weather was not cold.

"The prince of Nilfgaard, betting his life on the Law of Surprise and seducing an innocent princess of a little northern kingdom. Perhaps I should consider myself lucky. At least I don't have to make Morvran love me first."

Ciri looked at him without fear, and Emhyr held her gaze, his eyes so calm they looked dead.

"It is true," he responded after a while, "that I approached Pavetta with purpose, even though I did not yet know Vilgefortz back then. I did not love her; she was a child, kind, but naive. She did not fear me, even in the form of a monster. I was ... "

Emhyr paused, and Ciri waited.

"I felt peace when I was with her. That is all I can say."

"Her death. Was it part of your plan?"

"No. It was pure accident."

"What was your plan then?"

"To send her away, far away, and live out the rest of her life in peace."

Ciri huffed, "I see that the rest of the Cintrans didn't win your consideration."

"They did not."

For a moment, Ciri wondered why she was asking these question. There was no meaning in getting an answer, and in fact, answers would change nothing. Emhyr might had had some feelings towards Pavetta, but the reality wasn't a story; the man was simply too mutilated a creature to love anyone any more. And nothing could justify the monstrocity he committed in Cintra. There was simply no point in asking anything. She didn't come here to mend her relationship with him, and it could never be mended.

She put the papers back in order, and changed the topic. "So, what's next? The marriage is settled; what are the following plans?"

"The transfer of power will not happen in a single day. You need time to learn and build a reputation of your own. Ideally, my abdication should take place within ten years. By then you will be at a proper age as well, and perhaps with your own heir."

Ciri nodded. She does need time. "How soon will the wedding take place?"

"The engagement will be arranged immediately. But before the wedding, you will have to go on a royal progress, and visit all the current provinces and vassal states in Nilfgaard, except for the north; that should wait until the second progress. The wedding will take place after you return; lessons will be arranged for you, and you shall remain in Nilfgaard and assist me in the matters of state. I am hoping that you should your have own heir before you go on the next royal progress, which will contain the north, where the situation should be less unstable. You will be given tasks, missions, positions, authority. When you return, the abdication will be on schedule, and you will be empress within three years, if everything goes as planned."

That was a much more detailed plan than she had imagined, but it was too perfect and considerate for her to raise questions. "And after the abdication? Do you plan to stay in Nilfgaard?"

"No. It would be a sign that I have lingering thoughts on retrieving power, which will give rise to problems. You will have absolute authority, as befitting an empress."

The trust and faith he put in her almost made Ciri a little uneasy, but she did her best not to look embarrassed. "How will the engagement be annouced?"

"There are official procedures for royal engagements."

Which basically meant all she had to do was wait.

Ciri opened her mouth, but found that she didn't know what else to say. In truth, she had a ton of things to talk about; about the worlds she traveled to during her endless war with the Frost, about all the wonderful or frightening things she discorvered on her journey. But those were not the things she talk about with Emhyr. He wouldn't be interested. Would he?

Geralt would listen to her. He would listen to her talk for all day, and make quips and comments that would make her burst into laughter. "The royal progress," said Ciri. "Does that include Toussaint?"

"Certainly."

Nothing more needed to be said. Emhyr knew what she was thinking, and he had allowed it. But for a brief second, he looked as if he had something more to say as well, but instead he just closed his mouth and turned to finish arranging the documents. She should not push him to say it, but before she could realize, she had already done so, "What is it?"

The papers were laid on the table in order, and Ciri put them back in boxes according to their categories. She turned to look at him when she finished, but he was still sitting there in silence. She should just say something like "forget about it" and excuse herself, but she waited. She didn't know why, but she just wanted to at least get something out of him.

"I fea ... I was thinking," finally Emhyr replied, after what felt like centuries, "that you might change your mind when you see the witcher."

"Change my mind? About what?"

"Succeeding the throne."

Those words sounded novel, even hilarious when they came from Emhyr's mouth. They were nothing like the powerful declarations of an emperor, but the anxious complaint of a father. Ciri sat back in her chair, her mind blank; she wasn't prepared for this situation, and she didn't know how to properly reply.

"Well ... there are worlds in which I choose to become a witcher, I'm sure," at last she said with a stiff smile. "But those are not this world."

This was more than ridiculous. She could hardly believe that a day had come when Emhyr var Emreis needed her comfort, and she had given it to him, and it seemed to work, judging from the emperor's softened face.

"I haven't thanked you for saving my life yet," said Emhyr, his voice lacking the strength it always contained.

It was meaningless. It was painful, because in the end, Emhyr var Emreis was still the cold-blooded emperor of Nilfgaard, and Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon was still the unforturnate princess of Cintra who had her country destroyed by him. If there was indeed a time of happiness between them that Ciri couldn't remember, there was no returning to that time.

"You're welcome," said Ciri, because that was all she could think of saying, to her biological father.


End file.
